na foine ting: "this is a fine thing, here" or "look at this fine thing" or "I've got a very fine thing here, check it out" or "well, this is a damn pretty fucking kettle of fish; nice work, buckethead."

(Break me up like the last building falling into its foundations long after the mortar stops as though for those hours, still standing, it had forgotten the shelling and percussion and forgotten what it was supposed to do then came to itself and realized in that moment:

right: I have been destroyed

and crumbled in sudden sheepish apology and a pincushion shaped cloud of dust.

Break me.

I’ve never been afraid of the breaking you see but of being lucky being the last man standing, the only one standing: that’s what I’ve always been afraid of.)